The Life and Lies of Crooks
by nij2401
Summary: Anyone catch the Harry Potter reference? My idea about the life of Crooks, plus how George and Lennie probably met. Rated T for language (including racist language). Please note that all my OMAM stories have racist language in them purely because that's how people spoke, not my opinion. I don't own any characters or the book's plot. I wasn't alive in 1937 anyways.


Everyone calls me Crooks 'cause of my crooked back. It was caused during an accident with a horse. Since then, no-one's bothered to call me my real name. Half of 'em don't know what it is. They just call me 'Crooks', 'stable buck' or 'goddamn nigger'.

I grew up in Salinas. Had a nice little farm that my old man owned. Surrounded by two brothers. I enjoyed life. I got ta run around and play and help my Pa take care of the animals. I got ta play with the white kids in the valley. I loved it.

You know what I find strange? When you're little kids and you're s'posed to be more stupid than grown-ups. An' yet, kids play with other kids no matter what their colour or religion or family is. 'Cause kids don' care about bull like that. Wish all people could be like kids. Whereas the elders, who're meant ta be wiser, avoided me an' my family 'cause of our colour. An' because kids are ruled by their Ma and Pa, they stopped playin' wi' me an' my brothers. My old man was relieved; he didn' like me playin' with 'em. "They're different from us, an' don'tcha forget it," he'd say. Never realised why or how until later.

Well, childhood went on, only this time I could only play wi' my brothers. We were the only coloured family for miles around. We ran, played hide-an'-go-seek, all the usual kid stuff.

As we grew into teenagers, things suddenly changed. We were hated more an' more, not just by the elders but by our peers too. Then tragedy struck one day. I had ta finish my chores on the farm, but my brothers were ready ta go out inta town. So off they went. They were near the woods when people suddenly attacked them. They beat up my helpless brothers. They yelled, but their mouths were soon covered. After the hitting and cussing, the lives of my two best friends ended being strung up from a tree. I still remember when I found them; they were slowly swaying in the breeze, like two lifeless wind chimes. My brothers were lynched because they were apparently mistaken for two other bastards. And the most outrageous part is that the lynch mob got off scot-free. Don't take a detective to figure out why.

My father died a grief a few months later. My mother had died when I was two. That was it. I was seventeen and on my own. I sold off the farm somehow, before leaving to become a migrant worker.

* * *

><p>I was alone and lonely on Tyler Ranch until those two new guys came. Strangest thing I ever saw, I tell ya. The short guy, George Milton, was the smart one and travelled around with a cuckoo called Lennie Small. What tragic use of irony. The guy was the biggest guy I ever saw, with the strength a ten oxen. Apparently, he was the best bucker on the ranch.<p>

Anyway, the big guy came in when the others were in town. Don't know how, but he won me over and I let 'im set down. I told 'um my story, but not before I started creating images for him of what life would be like if George didn't come back from town.

Just like my brothers.

He became really worried by that. I didn' mean ta upset the poor bastard. I decided ta be kinder to him after that. Then the old swamper Candy came in. Both he and Lennie started talkin' about this land they were gonna get, and some rabbits. Especially those goddamned rabbits. At first I thought it was all bull, but then images came ta my mind. My old man's farm. The animals. The green pastures. My brothers' grin. My brothers hangin' from the tree. I got caught up in the moment. I asked if I could do odd jobs down there.

Then Curley's bitch of a wife came in. Started flirtin' and bein' generally tart-like. I told her that she'd better get out before I reported her. Then that whore started threatening ta have me lynched. Strung up from a tree. I fell silent. I had ta act like the nigger servant man. In the end, when George came and the others left, I told Candy to forgit about the job thing. I told him I wouldn't wanna live in a place like that.

_Of course ya wouldn't, _I told myself, _live in a place where you were more accepted? In a place where you could make a life a your own? A place where ya could be something ya haven't been in a long time - happy? Of course ya wouldn't. Well done. _

Sighing, I applied more liniment on my crooked back.

* * *

><p>The next day, the strangest a things happened. First, Lennie killed that slut called Curley's wife. Knowing the crazy bastard, he prob'ly did it by accident. Still, Curley and his mob spared him no mercy. I watched as George ran down to the brush, well ahead of Curley's gang. I only found out what happened when they came back down. Slim told me. George had shot Lennie to spare him from the horribly painful death Curley would give him. Unbelievable. The mere fact that George killed someone he had travelled with for God-knows-how-long shocked me to the core. Then I thought about his reasoning. If I had got known that my brothers would be lynched, there was no escape an' I wanted to protect 'em, I prob'y woulda done it too. Still, it takes a hell of a lotta courage. Where that small guy got it from only Jesus knows.<p>

George was busy with the 'plannin' for the funeral'. What planning was there to be done? I don't know for sure. Anyway, George, Candy, Slim an' me were in the barn Candy said he wanted to come, and Slim seconded that. I hesitated. I woulda liked to go, but George would probably send me away for bein' a nigger.

"So I guess that's it. 3 people at Lennie's funeral." George sighed and rubbed his forehead with his calloused hands.

"Wait a minute," Candy interrupted, "what about Crooks?"

George turned ta me an' stared. "What about Crooks? What's he gotta do wi' Lennie?"

"We got ta talkin' when you were out at he flophouse," Candy said, scratching his stubbly cheek, "and Crooks actually let 'um in his room. God knows why."

George looked at me, as if waitin' for answers.

"I was jes' there. He came in. I told 'um to git out, but he stayed. We talked. It was nice. Didn' treat me bad 'cause of my skin," I explained.

_Didn' treat me like the rest a them white guys._

George frowned, before sayin', "Well that makes four."

* * *

><p>The funeral was quiet. It weren't even a funeral. For one thing, there was no casket. Lennie was just buried near the river. George dug the hole himself. We let 'im do it. There was no gravestone. Well, there was - a piece a tree bark, with letters carved in with a pocket knife.<p>

_Here lies Lennie Small, a crazy bastard but a hell of a nice fella._

George said a few words about Lennie. There was silent remembrance. Then all the others walked back. I hung around, thinkin' about the graves of my brothers. Buried deep in the cemetery of the church for Negroes. I sighed, and smiled sadly. What I didn't realise was that George was there too. He walked back with me, for which I was grateful.

"So, you have your own room. Must be awful nice," he said, prob'ly ta break the ice.

"And awful lonely." George was the second person I'd admitted it to.

"I was jes' thinkin' about when I met Lennie. We were in the same class at school. My old lady knowed his Aunt Clara. I met 'um at school. Thought he was a crazy cuckoo, but as ya get ta know a guy, you... git used to 'um."

"Children are strange. In that, they're kinder than adults to the coloured. Even though they're meant ta be stupider. When I was little, I played with the little white kids. But as we got older..." I shook my head. I didn't feel the need to explain more.

"For me and Lennie, it was different. Because he was... you know... not that smart... children bullied him. They picked fights with 'um. Being the bastard he was, he couldn't raise a hand ta defend hisself. And... I was part a that gang. But I stopped when another kid gave 'um a black eye. He started cryin' then. It seemed wrong after that."

"He stopped school early for some reason. I carried on, but didn't see the point of goin' to college, what with the Depression starting. After a few years, it really got tough. Both my folks had died, an' I saw Lennie when I set out. His Aunt Clara was ill. She died a few months after we started. I'd practically forgotten Lennie by then, but he stuck to me. So I got used to 'um. And now..."

I wanted ta comfort him somehow, but I didn't know how. Years of isolation left me awkward around people, I guess.

"By the by," George asked as we neared the ranch, "I don't know your name. Crooks is just a nickname, ain't it?"

I smiled. My mouth ached as I was out of practice. I felt as if my twisted spine was straightening.

"Charles." I said. "My name is Charles Henley."

George extended his mouth by about 3 centimetres, which was probably as close as he could git to a smile.


End file.
